


Professor Bott, or: How I Learned to Stop Freaking Out and Be a Vampire

by missazrael



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: College AU, Fluff, Gen, JeanMarco Gift Exchange, M/M, Marco doesn't curse, Mentor/Student Relationship, Vampire AU, cursing, from Jean, technically major character death but it happens off screen and isn't described in any detail, with implied future relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael
Summary: This is the worst hangover ever.  Jean wakes up under a dumpster, feeling sick as hell and missing three days, and worst of all, he missed a math quiz and isn't interested in Connie's snack foods.  Maybe the hot TA for his math class will have some suggestions to help him out...A prompt from jeanmvrco.  I hope you like it!





	Professor Bott, or: How I Learned to Stop Freaking Out and Be a Vampire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hylianwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hylianwitch/gifts).



I wake up with the worst hangover of my life.

Seriously, the _worst_.

It hurts to open my eyes, but whatever I'm laying on (in? who can say?) hurts even worse. And it stinks. It smells worse than Eren's gym bag, and I've been privy to that little horrorshow enough times to _know_. How that stinky douche managed to snag Mikasa, I'll never figure out.

Normally, the thought of Mikasa would be enough to lead to a few pleasant minutes of fantasizing about her--long dark hair, pale skin, eyes you could lose yourself in, and what a shame she only has eyes for Eren Dipshit Jaeger--but now isn't the time or the place. I need to get out from wherever I am and back to my warm, soft bed. I am _freezing_ here, wherever here is, and I hate being cold.

It's a struggle, but I crack my eyes open, and for a second, I think I'm in a coffin.

But nah, it's just the metal underside of something, something that's _oozing_ , and I somehow have enough energy and disgust left inside me to scramble out from underneath it.

A dumpster. I passed out under a _dumpster_. I look down at my clothes, and almost retch; they didn't escape unscathed either, and are covered with garbage juice and filth and what looks like _blood_ , and I'm not sure if I should be hoping that it's mine or not.

Gross. This whole thing is fucking gross, and I scrabble behind my back for my hood, pulling it up and cinching it tight around my face for the worst walk of shame I hope I'll ever have to endure.

A goddamn dumpster. I'm going to _kill_ Connie.

~*~

It's really late, or maybe early, so I manage to sneak back to the dorm without seeing anyone. The sun is just starting to rise over the campus of Trost University, and its glare makes my head hurt even worse, so I hunch my shoulders and find it in myself to hurry the last few blocks.

My keys are still in my pocket, thank god, along with my keycard, wallet, and phone--whoever stashed me under that dumpster was polite, at least?--and I creep up to the room I share with Connie Springer. I'm hoping he'll be at his not-girlfriend's dorm, but no such luck; I spy the top of his buzzcut head peeking out from under the blankets of his bed, and I try to be quiet as I make my way to the in-suite bathroom.

No such luck. Sleeping under a pile of trash makes you clumsy as fuck, it appears, and I bark my shin on the edge of my bed. I curse, dropping my keys with a jangle onto the floor, and Connie sits up in bed, wild-eyed.

"Who the fu-- _Jean_?"

"Who the hell else would it be?" I'm growling, I realize, but I went to the kegger with this little shit, and he somehow made it back to his bed while I crashed on the street like a homeless person, so I'm not too sympathetic to his fractured sleep. "Great job looking out for me, by the way. Strong bro code, you know?"

"Jean?" Connie's eyes are wide, and he looks way too awake for someone who was just dead asleep. "Jean, where _the fuck_ have you been?"

"Uh..." Not the reaction I expected, I admit, and I narrow my eyes at him. "Why?"

"Because you've been gone for three days, you fucker!" Connie scrambles out of bed, and staggers towards me like he's going to give me a hug, but the stench of my clothing stops him in his tracks. "Oh my god, you _reek_! What the fuck, man?"

What the fuck, indeed. I'm staring at him, my mouth open, probably looking like a total idiot, but it's only Connie so looking like an idiot is okay. Connie's a good guy, and he's going to make a great guidance counselor someday, but no one will ever accuse him of being the sharpest crayon in the box. "Three days? Are you sure?"

" _Yes_!" He sounds offended, and okay, I'll admit that was a dickish question. "We went out on Friday night! _It's Tuesday morning!_ "

"SHIT!" That means I missed a math quiz, and if I start falling behind in that class, I'm never going to catch up. Now I need to add throwing myself at my math professor's feet and groveling for mercy to my busy schedule. He's just a grad student, though, so he'll probably get off on me treating him like a real professor and let me take it. Still, the news that I've been gone for three days is staggering, and I start to walk backwards to sit on my bed, but then remember how much I stink and stop. "Seriously? It's Tuesday?"

"Check your phone, man." Connie's eyes are dark and worried, and he turns on a bedside lamp, throwing the room into harsh illumination. I hiss and throw my arm up to block the light from my eyes, and Connie gasps. "You're white as a sheet! Where _were_ you, Jean? We need to get you to the hospital!"

"No!" No, absolutely not. No hospitals. I haven't been in a hospital since I was sixteen, and my mom and I came out of it alone, without my dad, and I am _not_ going into another one. Connie doesn't need to know that, though, and I lower my arm, squinting in the light of his lamp. Has it always been this bright? "No, I don't need a hospital. I just need a shower and some sleep. Then I'll be okay."

"You smell terrible," Connie agrees, and waves his hand in front of his nose.

"Thanks, buddy." I reach out and punch his shoulder, a little harder than necessary, but the turd deserves it. "I'm going to throw my clothes out into the room. Can you bag them up and throw them out in the hall?" I'll take them to the trash later.

"They're not staying in the room, that's for sure." Connie moves to get a trash bag, though, and I slip into the bathroom.

~*~

One scalding hot shower later, and I'm feeling... almost human again. Connie isn't lying, I'm white as a ghost right now, but I blame that on whatever debauchery I got up to over the last three days. I'm covered in scrapes and bruises, but they're all starting to heal, including some nasty little punctures on my neck. Did I get into a fight with a cat or what?

When I pad back to the main room of the dorm, Connie is sitting on his bed, dressed and wide awake now. "So where were you?" he asks without preamble.

I groan as I collapse into my bed, which has never felt warmer or more inviting. "Hang on. Gotta email the math TA guy."

_To: Marco Bott_

_Subject: missed math quiz_

_Hello, Professor Bott. Please excuse my absence on Monday. A family emergency arose, and I needed to go tend to it. I realize I've missed a quiz. May I take it at another time, and when?_

_Thank you,  
Jean Kirschtein_

Email sent, I toss my phone down and roll over to look at Connie. "Would you believe me if I told you I don't know?"

He looks aghast. "You seriously can't remember?"

I shake my head. "No idea. I woke up this morning... not where we started partying." I'm not going to admit I woke up under a dumpster.

"You blacked out? For three days?" Connie's brow is furrowed, and he suddenly reaches into his nightstand and digs around a little, emerging triumphant with a box of PopTarts. He tosses one at me, and I manage to snag it out of the air with a murmur of thanks. "Do you think you were roofied?"

I open the PopTarts--S'more flavor, yessss--but when I bite into one, it tastes like sawdust in my mouth. I try to chew it, but the taste stays the same, and I end up spitting it into my hand. "I don't think so? Maybe?" It's a gross thought, but I shrug. "My ass feels fine, if that's what you're worried about."

"Give me that if you're not going to eat it." Connie snatches his PopTarts back, and munches on the other one for a few moments, lost in thought. 

Before he can start talking again, I hold up a hand. "Connie. I'm beat. I'm going to get some sleep, and maybe then I'll remember what happened to me. Okay?"

He frowns, clearly not happy with the idea, but he knows he can't really push me to do anything I don't want to. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm not actively dying at the moment. That'll have to be good enough for now."

~*~

_To: Jean Kirschtein_

_Subject: re: missed math quiz_

_Please come to my office hours between 7 and 8 to take your quiz._

_MB_

~*~

Stupid TA, the only one on the whole damn campus who has office hours in the middle of the goddamn night. 

I'm grouchy as hell as I stomp across the campus, kicking my way through all the neatly stacked piles of leaves. Even after sleeping all day, only waking up to check my phone and see the email about the quiz, I still feel like ass. My eyes are gritty and feel like they're full of sand, all my joints ache, and I'm still not hungry. My throat is as parched as the Sahara Desert, but when I tried to drink some water, it made me gag.

Maybe I caught rabies? Wouldn't that just be the shit?

Mr. Bott has his office down in the basement with all the other TAs, and his is the only one with a light on. I rap on it, and wince; the sound booms up and down the empty hallway, like I was beating on the door with a closed fist instead of a light knuckle rap.

Some shuffling behind the door, and then the TA opens it, frowning when he sees me. "Are you feeling all right, Mr. Kirschtein?"

Okay, I'll admit it: for a TA, Mr. Bott is pretty hot. He has this alabaster skin, so white and smooth he looks like an old Renaissance painting, and the freckles on his cheeks just make him look boyish and charming. His hair is dark and glossy, like he uses some serious conditioner and product, and even though he wears it in a stupid haircut, it always looks like it's gleaming under the school's fluorescent lights. He's got the rest of the package, too--broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs with muscles that his preferred khaki slacks can't hide--but the best part of him are his eyes. They're dark and huge and a shade of brown that looks like the most delectable chocolate imaginable, and his eyelashes are so long I've heard the girls in the class debating on whether or not he wears mascara.

It's almost enough to make up for the fact that he's studying the worst subject possible, dresses like someone from the 1920s (bowties... in this day and age, unironic bowties!), and speaks with a lilting British accent. Okay, the accent is just a bonus, but it has no right to be as sexy as it is.

"'m okay." I stand there, looking up at him stupidly for a minute, and for some reason, I'm stupidly glad I wore a scarf to hide the dumb scratches on my neck. "I'm here for my quiz?"

"Of course." He stands aside to let me enter, and when I do, I catch the scent of something on him that makes me almost stop walking. Which is weird, because my nose has felt weirdly stuffy and blocked up all day. But it's either his cologne or what he had for dinner or _something_ , and it actually makes my mouth water a little. It smells so damn _good_ , and I have to swallow before I can talk again.

"Sorry for missing it. I, uh..."

"It's quite all right." He gestures for me to sit down in a chair by his desk, and I do, trying to subtly look around the room and see where that smell is coming from. Mr. Bott moves some papers around, and then finds the dreaded quiz, handing it to me with a raised eyebrow. "If you're still unwell, then..."

"I'm fine," I interrupt, and bend over the quiz. Might as well let the failing begin.

I'm three problems in--and probably fucking up on all of them--when I finally pinpoint where the smell is coming from. It was his breath, which means it probably originated from the cup of coffee on his desk. It's sitting under his little desk lamp, warm and steaming on one of those goofy little coffee warmer plates, and I swear to god I start drooling. I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, and try to solve another problem.

I can't, though. The scent of the coffee is too distracting, and since it's the first thing that's caught my interest all day, I push shame aside and lift my head. "Can I..."

Mr. Bott looks at me, and I falter. He's just too damn pretty, and it's such a dumb request. He's going to say no. "Yes?"

"Can I have some of that coffee?" I blurt it out; the worst he can do is say no, and then I'll just finish failing this quiz and go on my merry way. Maybe he'll at least tell me where he got it? Because that is _not_ a Starbucks blend.

Mr. Bott looks shocked, and then weirdly cautious. "You want some of my... coffee?"

What an odd place to pause in a sentence, but I just nod eagerly. "It smells really good."

He blinks, looking baffled, but then picks up the mug and hands it to me. "Do be careful, I like my coffee hot."

I drop my pencil and wrap both hands around the mug and lift it to my mouth. I only mean to take a sip--really, just a sip--but before I know what I've done, I've guzzled down the entire mug. I look at the bottom of it in horror, realizing what I've done, but then Mr. Bott is fishing a thermos out from under his desk, and topping it up.

"You seem as though you need it," he explains, and I nod gratefully before sucking down another cupful. 

"Thanks." I could drink another one, but I don't know how late he's staying up tonight and don't want to drink all his coffee, so I pass the mug back to him and return to my quiz. The coffee has awoken and rejuvenated me, and I tackle the rest of the quiz with ease, even finding the mistakes I made in the first three problems and correcting them.

I drop the completed quiz on his desk with aplomb, and grin at him, pleased with myself. "That coffee works miracles. Where'd you get it?"

He smiles, but it's slightly pinched. "It's a special blend from back home. I'm afraid it's not something you can simply get at Starbucks."

"Bummer." It really is; I'm already thirsty for more. "Can you order it online?"

"In a manner of speaking." He's watching me now, tapping a pencil across his lower lip, and I'm just going to ignore how full and plush that lip is, and not wonder at all what it'd be like to have it between _my_ lips. He seems to be trying to decide something, and then abruptly nods. "If you come to the office tomorrow evening, I can make you more. If you're still interested in it by then."

He sounds like he hopes I won't be, but I don't see that happening. I grin at him, broad and cheerful and feeling like myself again, and wave over my shoulder as I trot out of the office. "Thanks, Professor Bott!"

~*~

The high from the coffee is potent, but it doesn't last long. I'm dragging by the time I get back to the dorm, and I hit my mattress again like a ton of bricks. I pass out, barely noticing when Connie comes into the room and then leaves again, only getting up to close the blinds to block out the light. I spend all of the next day tossing and turning in fitful sleep, my dreams populated by monsters and demons, vast shifting shapes that refuse to form into anything solid, and it's only when the sun goes down and it's time to see Mr. Bott that I manage to drag myself out of bed.

I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but I don't care. I haven't been sweating, so I don't smell, and I start hurrying the closer I get to the math building, that tower of tortures. I'm practically running by the time I'm down in the TA offices hallway, and I nearly break down his door.

Mr. Bott is in his office, and he doesn't seem surprised to see me. "Mr. Kirschstein." He stands up, and offers me another steaming mug with that wonderful smell floating off the top. "I see you're back for more."

"Thanks." I grab the mug out of his hands and drain it, and once again, it's like life is flowing back into me. I swear I can feel the heat of it spreading through me, all the way to my fingers and toes, and when I put it down, it's like the world has been thrown into sharp relief again. I hadn't even realized how fuzzy everything had been until the fuzz went away. "Seriously, what's in this stuff?"

Mr. Bott smiles, but it's pinched, and he gestures for me to sit down. "It's... complicated."

"You're not giving a student speed or anything, are you?" Even if he is, I don't care, and hold out the mug for another cup.

"Certainly not!" He sounds deeply affronted, and pours me another cup of brew, which I gulp down just as quickly as the last one. "I would _never_ give a student something so illicit!"

"What is it, then?" After two cups, the edge is off my thirst, but I hold out the mug for another cup. If he's offering, I'm going to drink all I can.

"Before I answer that," he pours me another cup, much to my delight, "why did you miss class on Monday?"

I scowl, but he's giving me magic coffee so he deserves a real answer. "I went to a party on Friday, and blacked out until Tuesday morning."

He nods, like he was expecting that answer. "The Phi Kappa Alpha party?"

"How'd you know that?" Maybe he's not as stiff and nerdy as he looks, and has his finger on the pulse of the Trost U party scene.

Mr. Bott just shakes his head. "And I assume you woke up somewhere you did not intend?"

"Under a dumpster, if we're being honest. Why?" I'm sipping this third cup, but keeping my hands wrapped around it, soaking in the heat emanating from the mug.

He shakes his head, looking at the closed curtains of his window, before turning and looking me directly in the eyes. "Are you wearing a scarf to hide some unusual wounds on your neck?"

My hands freeze, the mug halfway to my mouth. I gape at him, and then look down into the cup between my hands. Does this coffee have a... slightly reddish tinge to it? And if there a reason Mr. Bott always wears such high collars, and bowties that draw the eye to the front of his neck and not the sides? "W-why?"

He sighs, and his eyes are hopelessly sad as he reaches up and pulls his collar to the side, exposing old, silvery scars in the same spots as the scratches on my neck. "The same thing happened to me, a long time ago."

I set the cup down on the desk so hard that it nearly cracks apart in my hands. "W-when?"

He lets his collar pop back into place, and smiles sadly. "The year after an unsinkable ship sank on her maiden voyage."

An unsinkable... what the... _shit_. What year did the Titanic sink? A long time ago, I remember that much. "You were alive when the Titanic sank?"

"I was." Another sad smile. "And then I was not."

"What are you?"

"Surely you've figured it out by now, Mr. Kirschstein." Mr. Bott folds his hands on the desk and watches me with those impossibly beautiful eyes. "The same thing you are now, unfortunately."

~*~

"So am I going to start sparkling when I go outside now?"

Mr. Bott--Marco, he told me to call him Marco now, since we're apparently going to be spending a lot more time together--makes a face. He's made some phone calls and written some emails while I've sat here, quietly freaking out and drinking more of his coffee that totally isn't coffee and is actually blood. I haven't gotten around to asking where the blood came from yet. "Of course not. That's pure foolishness. You _will_ , however, find that sunlight burns you, and I recommend scheduling all your class next semester for the evening."

I gape at him. "Are you serious? I'm supposed to stay in school?"

He blinks at me. "Why not? Your education is more important than ever now. You'll be..." he pauses, trying to think of a nice way to say it, "using it for much longer than anticipated."

"If it's so important, why are you still a TA?"

He looks coolly down his nose at me, and I realize I'm being a dick. "This is my fourth degree, thank you."

I look down at my mug of coffee/blood. "Sorry."

A beat of silence, and then he sighs. "It's all right. You've had quite a shock." 

I swirl the coffee/blood in my cup before taking another drink. "Uh... where does this come from?"

Please say it's animal blood, please say it's animal blood...

His answer surprises me. "We have an agreement with the medical school at the university and the university hospital. It's human blood, but it's drained from the cadavers for the medical school, or from those who die at the hospital and do not have religious exemptions against organ or tissue donation."

I stare at him, and for the first time, he looks a little embarrassed. "Simply because we are now creatures of the night does not mean we forget all our human ethics. There's no need for us to be monsters."

" _Us_?" I croak, and he smiles for the first time, showing off long, white incisors.

"Oh yes. You," he reaches across the table and takes my hand, and I let him hold it, "have a great deal to learn."

**Author's Note:**

> So I could have kept going here, but I was on a deadline and couldn't. Just let me assure you that there's an entire underground network of monsters and supernatural beings that Jean is about to discover.


End file.
